


Skeletons in the Closet

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [18]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bleh, Multi, Sensuality, another plot focused fic, but i wanted to tag it anyway, depictions of torture, depictions of violence, implied sex, keeping secrets is hard, nothing graphic, when can i go back to writing fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: After accidentally creating a tornado during a mission, you fly out to your uncle's to work on mastering your powers better.Unfortunately, you abrupt, secretive trip starts loosening the skeletons in your uncle's closet.Set post "THIS IS HALLOWEEN" and pre "Storms on a Cloudless Day."All warnings in the tags.My Tumblr: https://www.master-sass-blast.tumblr.com





	Skeletons in the Closet

It’s worth noting that your control over your powers is pretty solid. You can fly, generate blasts of wind that range from ‘is that a breeze or an itch’ to ‘holy fuck a tornado literally spawned right on top of me,’ and generally keep from asphyxiating everyone in your near vicinity.

But, at times, your control is a little lackluster.

Which is how you find yourself in the Professor’s office after a particularly... disastrous mission.

 

* * *

 

The mission, technically, was a success.

As were you inadvertent efforts in utterly destroying three buildings.

You squirm in the seat you’re sitting in as you stare at your shoes. “I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t trying to make a tornado! It just... happened! I couldn’t stop it!”

“I know that,” the Professor says gently. “And, fortunately, the media coverage is calling it ‘freak natural disaster’ and is attributing it to the effects of global warming. However, despite the lack of negative media consequences from this incident, we can’t afford to assume that future missions won’t have any.”

You peek up at him, still hunched in on yourself. “What would you have me do?”

“I wonder if a trip to your uncle’s would help. Nothing permanent, obviously, but I think he’d be able to guide you better since the two of you share the same mutation.”

You frown. “I don’t know. If he’s on a job--”

“I took the liberty of calling him once news of your accidental tornado reached us. He’s ready to work with you as soon as you want to leave and can keep you until you have better mastery over your powers.”

“It’s almost like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

The Professor chuckles and shakes his head. “No. However, after the scathing ‘chewing out’ that I received when he learned about your rough landings, I thought it prudent to reach out to him and inform him of your training needs.”

“I don’t mind heading out to his place for a bit... but what do I tell my team? I don’t want to just leave, like last time, but I can’t tell them the whole truth, either.”

“I think, if we work together, we can come up with something.”

 

* * *

 

After a little brainstorming with the Professor, you manage to come up with a good explanation --you’re leaving to train and meet with your benefactor, and will be back in a few weeks, with any luck.

You still don’t like the idea of leaving. Leaving means being away from Piotr, and you can attest from personal experience that it’s even less fun than it sounds. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.

But you also know the Professor’s right. You might’ve not been trying to make a tornado, but you can’t afford to not work on your control. Anyone could’ve been seriously hurt --especially your team--and that’s not a risk worth taking.

The disappointed looks on your team’s faces when you tell them you’re leaving for a bit --and that they can’t go with--still tears at your heart all the same.

“Um, objection, your Honor. This is fucking bullshit!” Wade exclaims when you tell him --again--that he can’t come with.

“Wade, I have to go alone.”

“Yeah, no. I still haven’t heard a good excuse.”

“You all can’t just... leave because I am. The world still needs you guys. You can’t pause being the X-Force just because I’m not around.”

Wade crosses his arms over his chest. “We  _aren’t_  the X-Force when you aren’t working with us.”

Nathan, fortunately, takes some pity on you. He elbows Wade in the side before putting the same arm around his shoulders so he can lean in and murmur in the merc’s ear. “This is hard enough for her. Ease up a little.”

Wade sighs and looks you in the eye. “Look, if you need to do this... I’m not going to stop you. But you better fucking come back.”

You try to smile reassuringly, even as tears threaten to spill over. “Just a couple weeks. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Wade lurches off the table he’d been sitting on and yanks you into a crushing hug. “I’m gonna miss you, sis.”

You wrap your arms around him, just as tight, and close your eyes before you start crying. “Right back at you, bro.”

“When do you leave?” Russell asks once the hug ends.

“I’m packing and heading out right after this. The sun’s finally down, and I don’t want to put this off. As cool as they are, impromptu tornadoes are kind of dangerous.”

Your friends swarm you, giving hugs and well wishes in turn.

Once they’re done, Piotr puts his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “I will help you pack,  _myshka_.”

You pat his arm appreciatively, give one last teary wave to your friends, and walk out of the rec room with Piotr.

Fuck, this sucks.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not gonna ask me to stay?”

You’re packed and standing in the yard behind Xavier’s, flight jacket and goggles in place. It’s a decently warm night; you won’t have to dealing with freezing while you’re flying.

Piotr cups your head in his massive hands and kisses your forehead. “As much as I want you to stay,  _dorogaya moya_ , I know you need to do this. I do not want to make this harder for you than it already is.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face against his chest. Hot, salty tears are trailing down your cheeks, making your eyes sting. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Piotr hugs your back and places gentle kisses against your hair. “I will be right here when you come back,  _dorogoy_. But you need to do this.”

“Will you miss me?”

“With all my heart.”

You roll up onto your tiptoes so you can kiss him --he still has to stoop down anyway, but you want to be close to him right now--and wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him for as long as you possibly can. “I’m going to miss you.”

“And I, you. And I’ll be here when you come back,  _moya lyubov’_. I promise.”

“I love you, Piotr.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

You force yourself to let go of him, give him one last pained smile, and start running across the back lawn before you take off.

You’ve got a lot of flying to do tonight, and you can’t afford to burn any more time.

 

* * *

 

After two days of flying, you finally reach your uncle’s house.

He grins as he watches you land --successfully--in the side yard. “Look at that landing! Beautiful!”

You bow. “Thank you, I’m here all week.”

“And possibly longer, I hear. Something about an accidental tornado?”

You wince sheepishly. “Emphasis on ‘accidental.’”

You uncle squeezes your shoulder and ushers you into the house. “Don’t worry, punk. I’ll make sure you’re good to go before you head back.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, hang on.”

You stop, halfway through obliterating the rows of targets your uncle had set up for you to practice on. You glare over your shoulder at him, panting slightly. “What? What now?”

“You’re trying too hard.”

Your brow furrows as you try to comprehend the statement. “What? What does that even mean?”

“You need to relax your movements more. You’re jerking yourself around a lot, and --aside from the fact that you could hurt yourself--it’s making you lose control.”

“I’m not following.”

“Okay. Let me try another way of explaining.” He pushes himself off the porch and walks towards you. “You’re too stiff. You’re putting too much emphasis on the force and precision of your attacks coming from your body, rather than the air itself. It actually gives you less control over what you’re doing.”

“So, what, I should just... be flowier?” You wiggle your arms and body in the most fluid, smooth movements you could make.

“Exactly. Wax on, wax off.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Think about how you strip screws out of stuff --which is still an incredible use of your mutation and one that I brag about to my coworkers every chance I get.”

You kick at the ground a little at his praise and grin. “Yeah, I’m thinking about it.”

“Do you focus on your hand doing the work, or do you just use it to generally direct the air and let the current do the rest?”

You scrunch up your nose as you mull it over. “I... let the air do the work.”

“Precisely. It’s the same way with this. Your body directs the air, and you have to let the air do the rest. You’re trying to force it, which is making you lose control.” He helps you position yourself for the next shot. “It’s less about the actual movement, more about the visualization. Think about what you need to happen --and then do it.”

You take a deep breath, then make a fist and punch at the next target, making sure to stay more relaxed and let the air speak for itself.

The target shatters into dozens of splinters with a loud crack.

Your uncle applauds as he sits back down on the porch. “Much better. Try it again.”

 

* * *

 

“So, how’s your boyfriend?”

You grin at the mention of Piotr. “He’s good.”

“Yeah? I take it he took you back with open arms?” He bats his eyelashes dramatically. “Perhaps with a bouquet of roses in hand?”

You smack your uncle on the back of the hand with the rag you’re using to dry tonight’s dinner dishes and stick your tongue out at him as he laughs. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did --but ix-nay on the roses, that’s just too over the top. We’re very happy together.”

“And I’m very happy to hear it.” He goes quiet for a moment, then asks “Did you tell him about me?”

You shake your head.

Your uncle raises his eyebrow. “And how did you manage that?”

“I... didn’t really say anything... about who I flew out to see. And I know you have a confidentiality agreement with Professor Xavier, so...”

Your uncle sighs and hands you another bowl for drying. “Punk, take it from someone who knows, keeping secrets from the people you love is a one way ticket to a whole world of pain.”

“It’s for your safety! If your old handlers found out where you were--”

“I’d deal with them. You can’t build your life around keeping my secrets.”

“I’m not going to put you at risk!”

“And what happens when your boyfriend finds out? And it’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when.’ Secrets don’t stay buried for long.”

“Piotr will... understand. He’ll understand that I only didn’t tell him to keep you safe. He won’t mind.”

Your uncle eyes you for a moment before relenting with a sigh. “Alright. You know him better than I do, after all.”

You can’t help but feel that his surrender is fake, but you’re willing to take it right now. There’s no way in hell that you’re going to out your uncle, even to Piotr. It’s too risky, and you can’t bear to lose someone so dear to you.

“Did I tell you about how we celebrated Halloween?” you ask brightly, happy to have such a pleasantly distracting story on hand.

“You haven’t. Do tell, do tell.”

You launch into the story --the entire spiel, from being pelted with bags of candy to confessing that you wanted to marry Piotr and have kids with him while you were sorting your spoils--with glee.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, what gives?”

You open your eyes and peer up at your uncle. “What?”

He’s standing above you, looking down on you as you sit on the porch and meditate. “I genuinely thought I was going to get nothing but complaining from you about having to sit still and do nothing. You’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes!”

You blink at him. “You told me to sit here and ‘feel the air.’ I thought meditating would work for that.”

“Since when do you meditate?”

“Since my therapist recommended it to me.”

“Since when do you have a therapist?!”

“Since I went back to Xavier’s. They assigned me one to help me deal with my childhood trauma.”

It’s your uncle’s turn to blink. He stares ahead at the wall of the house for a moment as he processes the news. “Well, I guess they can’t tell me that for legal reasons, since you’re an adult and I technically don’t exist as far as the government’s concerned.”

“Yeah. I’m on the ‘need to know only’ list because of my parents’ history of control and abuse. It’s a safety precaution.”

He nods, gaze still fixed on the wall. “Smart. Smart choice.” He blinks again, then grins down at you. “You have a therapist?”

You grin back up at him. “Yeah! She’s really great! She’s really been helping me with my stuff and my episodes!”

“That’s awesome! And what do your friends think?”

“They’re all really supportive, really happy for me.”

“Good. That’s good, punk. I’m happy for you.”

You grin brighter. “Thanks. I’m happy for me, too.”

 

* * *

 

One week in and you call the Professor.

“Y/N! It’s good to hear from you. How are things going?”

“So far, so good! My uncle thinks I should be able to come back at the end of next week if things keep progressing the same way.”

“Wonderful. I’m glad things are progressing so smoothly. Would you like to speak with your friends for a bit? I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.”

“Sure. That’d be awesome!” You wait for a minute, quivering with anticipation, then let out a delighted laugh as Wade’s voice crashes through the speaker.

“Well, I’ll be fucked. If it isn’t the Avatar! Are you finally undisappearing yourself and returning to civilization?”

You giggle as you hear Piotr’s voice admonish Wade in the background. “Not yet --but, with any luck, I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

“But that’s so long!” Wade whines.

“I guess you’ll have to suck it up!” you whine back, mimicking his tone. You take a few minutes to talk to the others, assuring them of your well-being and listening to their complaints about Wade’s behavior, then wriggle excitedly when Piotr takes the phone and steps out of the Professor’s office to talk to you in private.

You wait until he’s off speaker phone --you’re not a total asshole--then blurt out “Hey, baby. Talk dirty to me.”

He does that half sigh, half chuckle you know so well. “ _Myshka_.”

“Oh, starting with pet names. I like it.”

He laughs again, then groans quietly. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not really. Wanna tell me what you’re wearing, or do you want me to start?”

“Stop.” He’s still laughing, though, which means he isn’t annoyed. “How are you,  _moya lyubov’_?”

“I’m good. I’m getting things under control, learning how to not make accidental tornadoes. You know, just your average day in the life of a mutant.”

He chuckles. “Are you working with trainer?”

Your gaze flits to your uncle as he walks out onto the porch to watch you. “Uh... something like that. My benefactor found someone for me to work with.”

Piotr goes silent for a moment, then asks “Why not send them to mansion? It would require less travel for you. Would probably be safer than separating you from team.”

You wince as you try to come up with a convincing answer. “Uh... it’s complicated.”

Your uncle raises a critical eyebrow at you, as if to say _‘Really? That’s the best you got?’_

“So I have gathered. I--” He hesitates, and you can hear the frustrated sigh that he lets out “--I hope you understand why I would be concerned. You tell no one where you are going, who you are with, and you left your main phone behind.”

You wince again. “You found that.”

“I tried calling you. You forgot to turn it off.”

“Sorry, Pete. I didn’t mean for you to find that. I didn’t want you to know I’d left without it.”

“Again. Can you understand my concern?”

“Absolutely,” you say --because, really, you can. You’re completely aware of just  _how bad_  this looks. “Look, I’d tell you if I could, but it’s for someone else’s safety.”

“What?” Piotr’s voice goes tense with worry. “Are you alright? Are you safe?”

“I’m one thousand percent safe, babe,” you say with the utmost confidence because, well, you are. “Safe training, no stupid activities like jumping off the tops of buildings, eating my vegetables, staying hydrated, doing my self care --everything the matters. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. It’s just... it’s complicated. I wish I could say more, but I can’t without risking someone else’s safety. Mutant stuff. You know what I mean.”

He sighs ruefully. “I do. That still doesn’t explain why they can’t come to mansion.”

“Not everyone likes the idea of going to an advertised mutant haven that blows up every few months. We’re a little high profile, Pete. Too high profile for the person I’m working with.”

Your uncle rolls his eyes, and you glare at him and mouth the words _‘what else do you want me to say?’_

“ _Da_ , I understand.” He still sounds frustrated and worried, but if he’s acquiescing it’s because you’ve made a convincing enough argument for him to set it aside for the time being.

Score one for you.

“You promise you’re being safe?”

“I super duper promise, babe. Totally safe.”

“Alright.” His voice is fond and loving again. “I need to go. It is almost time for my advanced art class, and I do not want to make my students wait.”

“You go art, then. Be the Russian Bob Ross you were always meant to be. I’ll be back in about a week or so.”

He chuckles. “ _Khorosho_. I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too, Piotr.” You hang up, then look at your uncle.

He stares at you coldly. “Well. Was it worth the headache of figuring out an excuse?”

You tuck your phone in your pocket and scoff at him. “Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

You’re almost asleep a few days later when you hear it.

A man screaming, tormented and wet, from somewhere inside the house.

You’re fully, heart-pounding-ly, palms sweating-ly awake in less than a second. Your entire body goes tenses, and your wide eyes stare into the darkness of your room as you try to figure out  _what the fuck was that_.

The house is silent for a moment, and then there’s a dull thud followed by another pained scream. It’s coming from somewhere deep in the house.

_Maybe the basement?_  You think blearily as you slide out of bed and hover down the stairs. You’re not sure what’s in the house that’s making those noises, but you sure as fuck don’t want to tip off whatever’s  _causing_  the noises that you’re awake.

The basement door is, in fact, open. The glow of the fluorescent lights is visible from the top of the stairs, along with dark, hazy shadows that cut across the floor.

You float down the stairs --despite the fact that your inner Piotr voice is telling you to leave this entire situation alone--just far enough to reach the part where the wall cuts away and peer into the basement.

Most of the floor is blanketed with clear plastic tarp, along with the walls and the ceiling. A few people you don’t recognize are standing at various positions around the basement, dressed in all black and with various weapons strapped to their bodies. On the center of the tarp is a folding chair with a bloodied and battered man tied to it.

And, just in front of the man stands your uncle, dressed in black and with gloves on his hands.

You inhale sharply when you realize just what you’ve walked in on.  _Fuck_ \--

Unfortunately, one of the strangers notices you and whips out a pistol, aiming directly for the spot between your eyes. “Hey! Who are you?”

Your uncle flinches and looks up, then starts swearing when he realizes it’s you. “Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph on a shit cracker! Gonzalez, put your fucking gun away! That’s my fucking niece, you shitwipe!” He stuffs a bloody rag in the battered man’s mouth and darts over to the stairs. “Hey, punk. You alright?”

You nod. “Uh... yeah. I just--”

He glances behind you and sees the open door. “Who forgot to close the fucking door? What fucking ingrate is going to have shit detail for the next month because they can’t do something as basic as swinging a fucking plank of wood over a damn hole?” He sweeps a lethal glare over the strangers, then ascends the stairs halfway to pat your shoulder. “Sorry for waking you up, punk. Can you make sure that latches before you go back to bed?”

“...Yeah. I can do that.”

“Thanks. You alright otherwise? Did you have a nightmare?” He frowns. “Do you think you’re gonna have an episode?”

You shake your head. “No. I just... woke up when--”

He cuts you off with a nod and an understanding grimace. “Gotcha. We’ll keep it down so you can sleep. Hey, make sure you drink some water. Dehydration’s a bitch.”

“Will do.”

“Good. Love ya, punk. Go get some sleep.”

You take the none too subtle --albeit loving--hints to  _get the fuck out_  and walk back up the stairs. You latch the door behind you, walk to the kitchen, and pour yourself a glass of water from the tap.

It’s not exactly scarring, per se. You’ve seen worse on missions. You’ve seen Wade heal from worse.

Besides, you’ve always known who your uncle was and what he did for a living. Former non-voluntary government assassin turned gun for hire for the mutant community and those in need. You know he has a quiet deal with Charles --keep the mansion safe from those that could do some tragically legitimate damage in exchange for a “legitimate” job posting whenever he needed one--and that he runs his own team of mutants that run too gray for the X-Men. You know that a lot of his work involves making people disappear --shitty people, people who beat down on whoever they think is worthy of being a target.

Not for the first time, you think that Wade and your uncle would  _really_  get along if they ever met.

This is, however, the first time you’ve seen your uncle’s work in action. It’s not scary --just... a lot.

You set your glass in the sink, then jump when you hear another smack and scream combination. You hurry back up to your room, crawl under your blanket, and put your pillow over your head. You imagine that you’re back at the X-Mansion, safe and warm in Piotr’s arms, far away from any basement torture sessions.

Unfortunately, the dull screams the slip through the cracks in the floorboards don’t do much to reinforce your fantasy.

 

* * *

 

_SMACK!_

You toss another wood piece onto your pile and position another log on the chopping block.

_SMACK!_

Not that you’d admit to anyone other than  _maybe_  Piotr, but you’ve missed chopping wood. There’s just something  _really_  satisfying about driving an ax through something.

_SMACK!_

You dust off your hands after driving the ax into the chopping block, then glance over your shoulder when you hear footsteps approaching you.

Your uncle stops a few feet away from you, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans and a rueful half-smile, half-grimace on his face. “You alright?”

You nod. You don’t have to ask what he’s talking about. “Yeah. I’ve seen worse.”

He nods back, accepting what you say as truth. “Did you write anything about last night in your journal?”

You shake your head. “I know better than to do that.”

“Good. I contacted Charles. He says that your therapist is on the same confidentiality agreement. You can talk to her if you need to. No risk to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He tilts his head to the side and almost looks through you. “You gonna tell your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“He’s gonna find out about me eventually. You can’t hide me forever.”

“So? There’s no guarantee of that, and even if he does that doesn’t mean he needs to know about secret basement torture time.”

He chuckles at that and shrugs. “Suit yourself. Just don’t come crying to me if it bites you in the ass.”

You rolls your eyes at him. “Believe me, I won’t.”

 

* * *

 

“Relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“I can see the tension in your shoulders from here.”

You sigh, grit your teeth, and try to relax.

You’re sitting on the ground in the middle of a circle of targets, trying to get your breathing just right so you can take out the wooden dummies with a single blast of breath-directed wind.

At least, that’s the idea. According to your uncle, it’s supposed to work.

“Okay, you’re clenching your teeth. That’s the literal opposite of relaxed.” His heavy boots crunch against the sun-bleached grass, and then his hands land on your shoulders in short, soothing strokes. “What’s your hang up?”

“It’s not working. I don’t even think this is possible.”

“That’s because you’re not relaxed. You need to empty your mind. Do you meditation thing.”

That... actually puts into tangible terms for you. Now that you know how you’re supposed to get there, it’s easy for your to relax. You visualize the dummies around you and the results your uncle had explained to you earlier.  _Breathe in, then out. When you exhale, let your breathe push out around you into a full shield, expanding outwards and blasting the dummies into pieces_.

You breathe in.  _Relax. You can do this_.

You breathe out.

A wind shield expands out around you, ripping through the dummies and dissipating shortly thereafter.

You grin and opens your eyes to survey the carnage around you.

On the porch, your uncle laughs and claps his hands. “Well done, punk. Well fucking done.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, you’re on the front porch, backpack strapped on and flight gear in place.

“Itching to leave already?” Your uncle smirks teasingly and waves his hand before you can start issuing apologies and explanations. “It’s alright. I’d be worried if you wanted to stay out in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not for everyone,” you agree. You hesitate, then frown. “Promise that... you’ll be as safe as you can?”

“Secrets and promises that won’t keep. You trying to make a dishonest man of me, punk?” He smiles sadly and pulls you into a hug. “For you, I’ll promise. Only for you though.”

“Thanks.” You hug him back and quickly adjust your goggles into place when you step back so he can’t tell your eyes are watering. “Love you. Kick someone’s ass for me, okay?”

“Same to you, punk.”

You jog off the porch to get a running start, then launch yourself into the night air and start flying back to New York.

It’s time to go home.

 

* * *

 

When you do reach the mansion, during the early evening nearly two days later, only the Professor is waiting for you.

You frown as you jog towards him, running off the momentum from your landing. “Is everything alright?”

“For the moment being, yes. Your friends and Mr. Rasputin were called off on a mission --a bust on an underground fight ring that’s a known hotspot for the traffickers you’ve been following.” The Professor smiles wryly. “I know your team would appreciate you’re help, if you’re up for it. There’s no pressure to join, though. You’ve been flying for two days; it’s understandable that you’d want to rest.”

You grin, energized by the prospect of seeing your friends  _and_  kicking ass. “Let me get changed and drop my stuff, and then I’ll head out.”

 

* * *

 

You can hear the gunfire as you close in on the location --a warehouse on the rural edge of Upstate New York.

You angle in so you can take up a loose circuit over the building so you can get the general lay of the land, then tap your earpiece to connect with everyone else. “This is Airbird calling in, I’ve got eyes on the location!”

Wade nearly ruptures your eardrum with the force of his cheer. “Hey! You’re back! Are you actually here?”

“Duh. How are things looking down there?”

“Messy as fuck,” Wade says gleefully over the sounds of men screaming. “Care to join us?”

“Don’t mind if I do. Anything I can do to help out?”

“North entrance, heavy artillery,” Nathan growls. “Be nice if you could stomp it out.”

“On it.” You fly around to the North side, then angle yourself into a harsh dive towards the door. A few meters before impact, you flip yourself so you’re falling feet first and blast in the door. 

Your air buffer smacks into the gun and breaks it into pieces before tossing the men operating it across the warehouse.

You spin and nail the landing, dropping lightly to the concrete floor.

Wade cheers and applauds. “Ooh, sticks the landing  _and_  a spin! Ten out of ten! Very nice!”

You smile --then out and out grin as Piotr shifts into view. You wink at him and start running towards another group of criminals. “Let’s wrap this up, yeah?”

Piotr grins back and starts running with you. “ _Da_. Let’s wrap this up.”

 

* * *

 

One enthusiastic fight, a flight back to the mansion that was half spent snuggling in Piotr’s lap and half spent reuniting with your team, and a nice hot shower later, and you’re finally in bed with your boyfriend.

You’re literally laying on top of him, stretched out over his massive, muscular body. Your head is tucked in next to his, a pillow squished between his shoulder and the headboard at his insistence so you don’t strain your neck.

Piotr sighs happily as he rubs his hands up and down your back. “It’s good to have you back,  _myshka_. I have missed you.”

You hum contentedly as you wriggle against his firm torso, trying to get yourself as close as possible to him. “Sleeping without you is the worst.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says “You would not have to if your benefactor and trainer came here.”

You sigh heavily. “Piotr, it’s not in my control.”

“I know --and I don’t want it to seem that I am blaming you--but... it doesn’t make sense. What benefit is there in having you leave? Without us having any way of finding you if trouble arises? Many mutants come and go from mansion without attention being drawn.”

“Piotr--”

“I just... I do not like secrets,  _dorogaya moya_. Trouble happens when partners keep secrets from each other --romantic or otherwise.”

You prop yourself up on your forearms and peer down at him seriously. “Babe, I love you. I’m sorry that I’ve worried you. But it’s not  _my_  secrets that I’m keeping.”

Which is true, ultimately.

Piotr frowns, his blue eyes boring into yours. “I believe you, and I would not worry so much, but... after repression serum...”

You smile reassuringly and brush your fingertips against his forehead. “It’s nothing like that. No serum. I swear. Someone just needs to fly under a really low radar, okay? I promise, I’m being totally safe.”

“And I believe that, Y/N, but I am not fool. When people have to fly under such tight lines, they are either criminals or do criminal things. There is no logical explanation for why you cannot be here!”

You purse your lips and look away, at some indiscriminate spot on the bed, while you try to come up with something that’ll appease him.

“ _Myshka_ , I love you, and I believe you. I believe you are being safe. I believe you are not keeping personal secrets. But... things are not adding up, even with that. Do you understand why I am worried?”

“I do, Piotr, I really do. And I wish there was something I could tell you to make things better... but... I don’t think there is.”

He stares at you for a moment, studies your face, then sighs and smiles softly at you. “Okay. If... if you’re sure you’re being safe...”

“Always, Piotr. You’ve rubbed off on me too much for me to not.”

He chuckles at that and pulls you in for a sweet kiss. “I trust you,  _myshka_. With all my heart.”

You smile happily --then yelp in surprise and delight when he twists abruptly and positions the two of you so you’re under him on your back.

He starts mouthing at your neck while his hands work at your shirt. “Enough of this sad talk, for now. Two weeks is too long to be apart from you,  _dorogoy_. I have to have you.  _Now_.”

You moan softly, let him strip you out of your shirt, and wind your arms around his neck.


End file.
